


Sisters By Choice

by fourthage



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourthage/pseuds/fourthage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Choosing the best of bad options doesn't mean you can walk away afterwards. Hawke has to learn how to be a sister to a Warden Bethany. Background Hawke/Fenris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Dear Bethany,_

_Gamlen said he would write, but I haven't seen him sober since it happened. I don't know why. It wasn't him that found Mother like that. If anyone should be drunk out of her mind, it's me. Just think, next time we see each other, we can swap horror stories._

_Maker's breath, you'd think I could do this without joking about it._

_Mother's dead. Murdered by a blood mage. You don't want the details. You may not even want the news. It's not like you've bothered to answer any of Mother's letters or mine. Would it have killed you to write **at least once before**_

Hawke swore as the quill snapped. The words on the parchment grew blurry and she blinked rapidly. She was not going to cry over a Maker-forsaken pen breaking. Swallowing around the lump in her throat, Hawke stared at the letter for a moment more before shoving it away. She'd finish it tomorrow.

Orana had already turned down the bed for the night. Hawke toed off her house slippers and crawled in, not bothering to undress. She was still awake when Bodahn finally took Sandal off to bed; the door to their room creaked despite Bodahn's best efforts. The house quieted and she turned over, unable to bear the silence. The heating pan Orana had left under the sheets was long since cooled, but Hawke curled her toes around its edge anyway as she strained to hear the faint clink of armor from the city guard making their nightly rounds. Then she thought of Aveline and the way the woman had just stood there while Hawke threw accusations at her.

Hawke rolled back over and pulled a pillow over her ears. Her chest constricted and the lump rose in her throat again. She didn't want to cry again. She hadn't cried like this when her father died. It seemed wrong, like he'd meant less to her, but Leandra and the twins had needed her and there just hadn't been time. Leandra hadn't cried much after the first few days, either, but as Hawke stared into the remains of the fire she remembered one afternoon, months after Malcolm's burial.

The twins had been out running errands, and Leandra was using the time with the house empty to clean. Hawke came back in from the garden and found her in the kitchen, humming to herself and crying as she swept out the fireplace. Hawke had frozen in alarm, but Leandra just sighed and smiled at her. _"Don't worry, darling,"_ Leandra had said. _"Sometimes I just miss your father."_

"Sometimes I just miss you," Hawke whispered. And her father, and Carver, and Bethany. This time when the sob rose, she didn't fight it. She did her best to muffle the sounds in the pillows, and when it was over she finally fell asleep.

Hawke woke late the next morning. She didn't return to the letter to Bethany until after she washed and dressed for the day. Hawke scanned the paper and grimaced before folding it away in her journal. She'd try again in the evening.

Varric had a job when she stopped by the Hanged Man. Hawke didn't need the money, but it got her out of Kirkwall for the day. It was well after midnight when they returned, and she was too tired to do anything but fall into bed. Merrill wanted help gathering herbs on Sundermount the day after that, then Isabela had a lead on her relic outside the city, and somehow a week went by without Hawke noticing. Fenris had even shown up on her doorstep to tell her about a group of slavers using the caves on the Wounded Coast. He'd hadn't exactly asked for her aid, but Hawke grabbed her sword and followed, taking Varric and Isabela along to fill any awkward silences. It wasn't that Hawke forgot about writing Bethany, but as the days went by _what_ she wanted to write became more tangled.

Two weeks after her first attempt at the letter, Hawke found herself coming home early enough that the stars were just starting to come out. She nodded at the few nobles she passed, their paths lit by servants carrying lanterns. Tonight she was going to sit at her desk and not get up again till she'd finished the damn thing. She had nothing planned for the next day and would stay up till sunrise if that's what it took.

Hawke opened her door and walked straight into an argument. She almost turned around and walked back out, but then Isabela raised her hand to slap Aveline and there was no good way that would end.

"Could you not get blood on the carpet?" Hawke asked, entering the room. "Orana just got the last bit from Mother out."

Aveline looked appalled and a little ashamed at that and Hawke felt a kind of vicious pleasure. Isabela lowered her hand and gave her a darkly amused glance. They both started talking at once, and Hawke rubbed her temples as she realized that two emergencies had just dropped into her lap.

"All right," Hawke said as they finished. "Isabela tonight, then I'll meet you at the Qunari compound tomorrow, Aveline. Do me a favor and see that Fenris is there. He's helped before." She glanced up the stairs to her bedroom and stifled a sigh.

* * *

It was a disaster, all of it. Isabela ran off with the relic, which turned out to be the entire reason the Qunari had set up residence in the city in the first place. The Arishok was not impressed and had run out of patience. Hawke and Aveline barely escaped from the compound alive. They retreated to Lowtown, scooping Fenris up along the way, and Hawke immediately led them to the Hanged Man.

"Varric," she said by way of greeting as she walked in his room. "Get everyone together. Send runners or whatever you do, but I want everyone in my house now." Where I know they're safe, Hawke added mentally. There were shouts down in the tavern's main room. Fenris looked, then cursed and drew his sword. Aveline and Hawke followed him as he ran down the stairs and launched himself at one of the four Qunari that had just come bursting in.

"Up the stairs," Aveline shouted at the patrons. Hawke motioned for Corff to retreat into his back room as Fenris caught the sword of the nearest Qunari with his own. His markings flared as he broke the attack and swept his sword over the unprotected neck. Aveline engaged the second warrior, and the last two headed for Hawke. She dodged behind the pillar in the center of the room, forcing them to split apart. She hooked a chair with her foot and kicked it toward the legs of the one on the right. He stumbled, and it was enough for her to get inside his guard and slip a dagger between his ribs. His companion roared a battle cry and Hawke twisted away, leaving the dagger in place. She scrambled backward as the Qunari advanced. One of her legs hit the edge of a table and she unbalanced just enough for him to get in striking range. She brought her sword up, knowing it was no match for his heavier blade.

An arrow sprouted between the Qunari's eyes, and a split second later Fenris's sword ran through his stomach.

"Thanks," Hawke panted. Across the room, she saw Aveline snap her opponent's head back with the edge of her shield and follow it up with a sword to the gut. Screams filtered in from outside. Hawke met Aveline's eyes and nodded.

"Corff," Hawke barked. The owner poked his head out of the backroom cautiously. "We're leaving. Block the door after we go." He looked at her like she was crazy, but by the time they hit the door, he was already dragging a table over.

The city was on fire. The acrid smell of smoke made Hawke cough and her eyes water as soon as she stepped outside. Aveline stood beside her, face grim.

"Merrill," Hawke said. Hopefully Anders had the sense to stay where he was. She was pretty sure he had an escape route from his clinic, meant for Templars, but also useful for unforeseen Qunari invasions. They fought their way up the steps to the Alienage, only to find the entrance barricaded. Hawke called over it, but got no response. She peered through the barricade, desperately searching for any kind of movement.

"Hawke," Aveline said. "I need to get to my guards."

Hawke ignored her, tilting her head back. Maybe she could climb over?

A hand fell on her arm. "Daisy will be okay," Varric said.

"They will secure the Viscount first," Fenris put in. "They are unlikely to waste energy subduing these pockets of resistance until they have captured those in charge."

Hawke pressed her lips together. She trusted Fenris's assessment, but _unlikely to_ wasn't the same as _definitely won't._ "All right," she said, backing away from the barricade. She wasn't abandoning Merrill, she told herself. She was leaving her in a fortified position and would return as soon as she could. Aveline shifted with impatience. "All right," Hawke repeated. "Hightown."

They ran into a larger group of Qunari outside Gamlen's house, already engaged in a fight with a contingent of soldiers. Aveline rushed forward, and was nearly knocked off her feet by a blast of electricity from her blind side.

"Saarebas," Fenris spat, moving to meet the collared mage. Hawke followed without thinking to cover him. She took out the Qunari holding the mage's control rod—Maker, but she hated the very idea of it—and then joined Fenris against the Saarebas. He went high as she went low, and Hawke wondered what it said about the two of them that despite everything they could still kill in perfect harmony. She paused to push hair out of her eyes before turning to face the rest of the fight. Or maybe it was just her it said something about. It wasn't like she'd been good at anything other than killing people lately.

Without the help of the Saarebas, the Qunari were outmatched in both numbers and skill. The remaining warriors fell quickly to the soldiers, with only a little help from Hawke and her party. As the soldiers' leader approached to offer his thanks, Hawke blinked as the blue and silver armor registered. Not soldiers. Grey Wardens. Her eyes darted over their faces. It was foolish, Bethany was stationed no where near Kirkwall.

Except that it wasn't. Hawke felt her breath catch as a familiar head of dark curls rose behind the Warden's shoulder. The man trailed off as he noticed Hawke was no longer listening to him.

"Bethany," Hawke breathed. She was here. She was alive. The silence of the past three years hadn't been because she died in some darkspawn tunnel. Relief and anger and grief tangled together in Hawke's chest, and any further words died in her throat. She stepped toward her sister, free hand reaching out.

Bethany's eyes flickered down to Hawke's outstretched hand. "Sister," she said, not moving. Hawke faltered, hand hanging in the air a moment longer before dropping. Bethany barely met her gaze before deliberately turning her head and looking away.

The other Warden cleared his throat. "Ah, awkward family reunions. Really takes me back." Bethany continued staring off into the distance. "Right. Well. Wish we could stay and help, but we've got important Grey Warden business to be doing."

"More important than this?" Hawke waved her hand. She looked at Bethany as she said it. Bethany went on contemplating the space behind the Warden.

"Wardens don't get involved in politics," the man said. His eyes moved between Hawke and her sister, and he shifted his weight a little so that the bulk of him was between Hawke and Bethany. He was protecting Bethany, Hawke realized. Against her.

The knowledge was like a knife in the gut.

The Warden signaled his men to head out. Bethany still wouldn't look at her. Hawke took a shaky breath; she had to tell her.

"Bethany, wait." Her voice didn't sound like her, but Bethany stopped and half-turned her head. "You need to know. Mother—"

"I know," Bethany interrupted. "Gamlen wrote." The stress on the name was slight, but Hawke heard the accusation in it. Guilt, old and new, choked her. Bethany waited a moment for a response, then shrugged. "Good luck, sister," she said as she left, the final word a curse.

Hawke stood with the city screaming around her, and thought she deserved it.


	2. Chapter 2

_Sister,_

_Congratulations, I suppose, on becoming Champion of Kirkwall.  I'm a bit late in saying it, but I only have your example for writing about important news._

_You keep asking how I am.  What do you want me to say?  Do you want me to tell you about my dreams?  Wardens get their own personalized set of nightmares, much different from anything I had as a mere mage.  Or I could tell you about the darkspawn we've fought over the past few years.  There are things down in the Deep Roads that would make surfacers shit themselves._

_Oh, don't be surprised.  You were in the army.  Surely you didn't think I wouldn't pick up a few new words.  I'm not a child._

_You don't need to keep writing.  I know you think you know best, but please—stop reminding me of everything I can't have anymore._

_Bethany_

* * *

  
Hawke showed up at the Hanged Man with her own bottle of wine.  Bottles, in fact.  One in her hand and one under each arm.  She snagged a cup from Nora on her way through, and plopped herself down in Varric's room, dislodging a sheaf of paper from a chair.  "Oops," she said.

"What's the occasion?" Varric asked, reaching for one of the unopened bottles.

"I can't spend the evening with my favorite dwarf without an ulterior motive?"  Hawke poured herself a cup.

"Sure, but you usually don't come bearing gifts."  Varric popped open his bottle and busied himself with finding a mug.  He filled it to the brim, then tossed back half of it without even blinking.  "So, what's up?"

Hawke stared morosely at the table.  "Do you ever feel like nothing you do matters?  Or only matters in the wrong ways?"

Varric cocked an eyebrow at her.  "Strange talk coming from the Champion."

"Ha, yes.  I didn't do the Viscount any good though, did I?"

"You saved Rivaini."

"And where is she now?  Couldn't have done that good a job of it if she still ran off first chance."

"Ever think that says more about Rivaini than it does you?"

Hawke took a sip of wine.  "When one person does that, sure.  When—" she stopped herself and redid the rest of that sentence.  "When it's more than one, you start to wonder."

Varric leaned back and ran his fingers through his chest hair.  "So this isn't about Rivaini," he said.  He hesitated for a split second before asking, "The elf?"

Hawke stared into her cup.  "No."  Honesty compelled her to add, "Mostly not."

"Unless you've been holding out on me, that's all I've got."

She shrugged and swirled her wine, watching the candlelight reflect off its surface.  Varric's chair scraped as he pushed it back and moved around the table.  He leaned against the edge next to her and waited.  Nosy dwarf.  Hawke reached into an inner pocket and pulled out Bethany's letter.  She handed it to him and went back to nursing her drink.

He read it in silence, re-folding it and placing it on the table when done.  "Sunshine doesn't sound too happy."

Hawke hated how bitter her laugh sounded.  "I thought you went in for exaggeration, not understatement."

"A good storyteller knows there's a time for both."

She threw back the rest of the wine and finally looked up at him.  "I don't know how to fix this."

Varric didn't answer right away, focused on smoothing the edges of the letter.  "Maybe it isn't your problem to fix," he said finally.

Of course it was.  "I'm the one who exposed her to the taint.  I'm the one who made the decision to have her join the Wardens."

"You tried to do right by her.  That's all you can do."

Hawke slammed her cup down.  "I'm her sister!  Her _older_ sister.  That means something!"  Varric's eyes were far too understanding and Hawke looked away.  "I'm supposed to protect her, not—"  she cut off abruptly.  Varric went thoughtful again.  

"I'm the last person to give advice on this, Hawke."

Hawke snorted softly.  "How would you tell it as a story, then?  What makes one sister forgive the other?"

"Oh," Varric waved one hand expansively.  "There'd be a grand rescue, after which the sisters would fall into each other's arms, crying and swearing never to be at odds again."

"Bethany has probably had enough of my 'rescues,'" Hawke pointed out.

"Who said you'd be the one doing the rescuing?"  Varric asked, and chuckled at Hawke's expression.  After a second, her lips twitched and she started laughing too.  If Varric noticed the edge to it, he was kind enough not to say anything.  He let her wind down and topped off her glass.

"What about Blondie?" he suggested as she drank.  "He might be able to fill in some blanks."

And she might even consider asking him, except that Anders had been increasingly distracted lately.  Justice seemed to be lurking ever closer to the surface.  The last time she'd visited, they'd barely exchanged three sentences before Anders had started glowing around the edges.  "He's been busy," she said.

"He'd make time for you."

"Don't."

Varric took the admonition in good grace.  "Back to a grand rescue then?  We could always tie you up in the Bone Pit and send a note to Sunshine about the horrible danger you're in."

"You're assuming she'd come."

"We'll go and get her first.  Kidnapping a Grey Warden would make one hell of a story."

Hawke bent over the table, shoulders shaking with laughter. "Varric."  He raised his glass and winked at her.

They let the conversation drift to easier topics after that.  The wine wasn't a particularly strong one, and Varric drank the lion's share, but Hawke's head felt pleasantly fuzzy by the time they polished off the final bottle.  Everything seemed a comfortable distance away and she might actually sleep untroubled that night.  Hawke thought about Bethany's letter, to test the sensation.  The hurt was still there, but removed and wavering, like she was seeing it through water.  Or alcohol, she thought, and giggled.

She stood, slightly unsteady on her feet.  "I'm going home," she announced, taking up the letter from where it lay on the table.

Varric's voice stopped her at the door. "Hawke."  She looked back at him.  "What are you going to do about..." his eyes flicked down to her hand.

"What else?"  Hawke asked.  She waved the letter, "I'm going to do what I think is best."


	3. Chapter 3

_To Warden Commander Alistair Theirin,_

_I have been remiss in offering my thanks for the aid you and yours rendered during the unpleasantness with the Qunari two years ago.  Please accept my gratitude, and that of Kirkwall, such as I may offer._

_I know the Wardens do not share information about their own lightly, but I was hoping you might enlighten me as to the health and wellbeing of my sister, Bethany.  She was in your command when we met.  Any news you could provide would be most welcome._

_Respectfully,_

_Marian Hawke,  
House of Amell_

* * *

It had been a good day.  Bethany had never thought of herself as a teacher—how could she, when she had always had to hide what she was—but she found herself enjoying mentoring the new mage recruits.  She felt especial sympathy for the Circle mages, who had no experience using their magic against enemies out in the real world.  She'd spent the day drilling them on speed; it was no good being able to cast an elaborate spell if you couldn't get it off before an enemy closed on you or your allies.  It was satisfying, even though she'd had to refrain from pointing out that _they'd_ volunteered for this life when they complained.  

She'd just returned to her room and hadn't even gotten around to closing the door behind her when Alistair appeared in the doorway.  He had a stack of mail with him, and Bethany fought down a surge of annoyance.  Only one person wrote to her any more.  Her feelings must have shown on her face, because Alistair gave her one of his apologetic grins that so reminded her of Carver, and handed her a letter with an all-too-familiar seal.

"She's like clockwork, your sister," he said.

Bethany took the letter, then took two angry steps across the room to her dresser and stuffed the letter in the top drawer.  It stuck as she tried to close it, and she muttered a few choice curses under her breath as she reached in to rearrange the stack of unopened envelopes.  Alistair cleared his throat and she blew hair out of her eyes as she looked over at him.

"Uh, I should probably tell you that your sister wrote me too.  She wants to know if you're well."  Bethany straightened, furious, and he raised his hands.  "I won't answer if you don't want me to.  It's just—" he raised one hand to the back of his neck.  "Your sister has become pretty important politically, and we could use the connection in the Free Marches."

Oh, of course.  Even the choice about writing a family member was no longer hers.  Her eyes started to sting and she turned back to the stuck drawer so Alistair wouldn't see.  She always hated how easily she cried.  Marian used to say it was because she did the crying for both herself and Carver.

"Maker, are you crying?  Please don't.  I never know what to do except make bad puns that never make anyone laugh.  I really won't write if you don't want."  

Bethany sniffed, once, and shook her head.  "You might as well.  She'll just write you again if you don't.  You can see how well ignoring her worked for me."

"Ah, yes."  Alistair came into the room a little.  "Have you actually read any of those?"

She shook her head again and shrugged.  "The first few."

Alistair looked at the letters again. "Maybe you should.  Before you decide about me writing back, I mean."

She had successfully avoided doing so for the better part of two years.  "Is that an order?"

Alistair looked hurt.  "Just a suggestion.  At least you have a sister who cares enough to write."

"Fine," Bethany snapped.  Alistair took the hint and left, closing the door behind him.  

Bethany gave up on closing the drawer and started pulling letters out instead.  She dumped them on her bed and glared at them.  Then she went and took a bath.  Feeling clean, if not relaxed, she folded her robes and straightened the few items she'd accumulated since she'd joined the Wardens.  The floor was a little dusty, so she swept it with carefully controlled puffs of wind and blew the small pile out into the hallway.  Then she pulled out the journal she wrote in once in a blue moon, and gave a very detailed account of her day.  She had to light a candle halfway through.

Finished, Bethany looked around the room and sighed.  There was really nothing else to do, and it was still too early to go to bed.  She had to read the damn letters.  She put it off a little longer by opening and sorting the letters by date, then steeled herself and started reading.

The first few were as awful as she remembered, full of forced cheerfulness and absolutely nothing of any substance.  It hurt.  Marian was never anything but bluntly honest.  This was like she was talking to a stranger.

The next letter was different.  Bethany looked again at the date and realized it was the first letter written after the one time she had given in and written back.  It wasn't cheerful at all.  For the first time, Marian wrote about the responsibilities that came with being Champion, and how it didn't seem to make a bit of difference in the real tensions in Kirkwall.  It sounded like her.  Like the way she'd confide in Bethany during that first awful year in the city.

As she read on, the tone of the letters became steadily darker.  Bethany wondered if her sister even realized it.  In one memorable note, which Bethany suspected was written while drunk, Marian even shared what a mess she'd made of her love life.  

At least you had one, Bethany thought.  And it shouldn't make her feel better, to know that her sister hadn't escaped being miserable either, but it did.  She wasn't quite up to feeling sympathetic, but the cold ball of resentment had thawed a little.  She folded the letters back up and put them away thoughtfully before blowing out the candle.

"You can write her back," she told Alistair the next day in his office.  "And tell her I'm well.  You can even tell her I said that."

Alistair looked relieved, and Bethany fought down a surge of irritation.  Did he think she was going to be irrational?  She'd have said yes even if Marian hadn't started talking to her like family again.

"That will help," he said.  "Do you want to include a letter with the post too?"

"No," Bethany said more sharply than she intended.  "I—no.  She can make do with yours."  Alistair looked like he wanted to argue with her, so she inclined her head and left before he could say anything.  She still hadn't quite forgiven her sister, and that was one thing she was going to keep for herself.  If she ever wrote again, it would be because she wanted to, not because her commanding officer told her to do it.

But at least one thing had changed.  She'd read any future letters as they came.


	4. Chapter 4

_Dear Bethany,  
  
I know it isn't time for another letter yet, but I might be away a while and didn't want you to think I'd forgotten about you.  It seems some of your fellow Wardens have disappeared, and the sister of one of them—a Howe, if you can believe it—tracked him here.  I could have turned her down, but it hit a bit close to home.  
  
Varric, bless his beardless chin, volunteered to come along, and I've managed to coax Anders away from the city for a bit too.  I can't believe I think some time in the Deep Roads might be good for him, but these have been a strange few years.  I should really take at least one more person, but I'm terrified of losing someone else to the taint.  Anders is safe, and Varric and I got through it once before.  It doesn't work that way, I know, but—  
  
Never mind.  I'm rambling and I'm sure this isn't your favorite topic.  I'll write when we get back.  
  
With love,  
Marian_

* * *

  
  
The arrival of Nathaniel Howe at Ansburg created something of a sensation.  A very localized sensation.  Most of the Wardens hadn't given the man a second glance, but there was definitely a great deal of sensation happening right here, in Alistair's office.  Bethany was glad she had shut the door before announcing exactly who was leading the delegation from Vigil's Keep.  Alistair could be very loud.  
  
She folded her arms and let her gaze rest on the desk as he ranted.  It wasn't that she didn't understand why he was upset, but she couldn't muster the energy to care herself.    
  
“So see what he wants and send him on his way,” Bethany said, when Alistair finally paused to breathe.  
  
He sat down heavily.  “I know why he's here.  I just didn't know it was going to be him who was coming.”  
  
Bethany waited, but he didn't seem inclined to elaborate.  “Can I send him up then?” she asked.  
  
“Yes,”  Alistair said.  “Sorry about,” he waved his hand to indicate his earlier pacing.  
  
Bethany shrugged.  It hadn't bothered her.  She went to tell Nathaniel that Alistair was ready to see him, then returned to her room and put the whole thing out of her mind.  Her afternoon was free, and she wanted to work on augmenting her fire magic.  She'd bought a plain sliver ring a week earlier from one of the traveling merchants and the evenings since had been spent preparing the runes for the enchantment.  The work required immense concentration and was incredibly tedious, which was why mages usually left enchanting to the Tranquil.  
  
She could have just bought an enchanted ring.  She spent very little of her stipend and had the coin.  In fact—Bethany pulled open the drawer on the small worktable to look at her modest stash—she had enough coin several times over.  But she'd been feeling... restless.  Since Marian's last letter, if she was honest with herself.  Her eyes flickered to where it sat folded loosely on her bed.  Enchanting was a good distraction.  She literally couldn't think of anything else during the process.  
  
Bethany lit the lamp on the table in case the sun set before she finished, and began.  She quickly lost herself in the careful application of lyrium to the ring and the hours slipped by unnoticed.  The oil in the lamp was low when she straightened again with a sigh.  She turned the ring in her fingers, checking that the runes had taken properly.  The lyrium would have to set overnight before she could test it to be sure, but it looked right.  She allowed herself a smile of satisfaction and stood to stretch.    
  
Marian's letter caught her eye, and all her restlessness came back.  She unfolded it and smoothed it against the blankets, eyes picking up the odd phrase, but not really reading it.  It wasn't all that different from any of the other letters, but Bethany suddenly _missed_ her sister.  She wanted to be sitting next to her on the steps to Hightown at dusk, watching the merchants pack up for the day and talking about whatever came into their heads.  Or be freshly bathed in front of the fire, letting Marian tie her hair up in bits of rags to make it curl.  She wanted to be able to roll over in the middle of night when she woke from a bad dream and find her sister in arm's reach.  
  
There was leftover parchment on the table.  She could, maybe she could—  
  
Bethany had just taken a step back towards the table when there was a sharp knock on the door.  She opened it to find Alistair looking surprised on the other side.  
  
“You were in here,” he said.  “I knew Howe went to the wrong door.  Come on, then.”  
  
“I might not have heard him,” Bethany said as she followed him along the hallway, curious. “I was working on something.”  Almost two somethings, and she wasn't sure if she was relieved or upset that Alistair had interrupted.  
  
“I hope you finished it,” Alistair said.  They reached his office, and he opened the door for her to enter first.  Bethany felt a flash of amusement.  Marian always said you could tell a Chantry boy by the way he remembered his manners when he forgot to think.  “You're about to leave for the Deep Roads.  Howe will give you the details.”  Nathaniel turned as Bethany entered.  “And don't touch anything,” Alistair said to him.  “I have a system.”  
  
Nathaniel looked at the papers scattered haphazardly across the desk.  “So I see,” he said.  Alistair huffed and left.  Bethany was left standing awkwardly by the door.    
  
“The Deep Roads?” she asked.  
  
Nathaniel motioned for her to sit.  “We're retracing the expedition you were a part of before joining the Wardens.  According to our source, the thaig you found is deeper than anything in our records.  The First Warden himself ordered an investigation.”  
  
“Your source?”  
  
“A dwarf.  Oh, what was his name?”  
  
“Varric?”  
  
“No, Bar-something.”  
  
Bethany's breath caught.  “Bartrand?”  
  
“You remember him?”  
  
“He trapped us there.”  
  
“Ah,” Nathaniel sat back.  “Well, if it's any consolation, he was well on his way to being lyrium-mad when I saw him.”  
  
It wasn't, actually.  Even when it happened, she'd been terrified, not angry.  Varric had been furious.  Marian was the one who had stayed focused and got them moving again.  Even now, seven years on, she could still feel the panic when she'd realized they were trapped under miles of rock, far from the sun and grass and clean air.    
  
Wait.  “You want me to come with you?”  
  
“We have maps of the area, it's true, but your firsthand experience of the tunnels is invaluable.”  Nathaniel watched her closely.  
  
“Yes, but—”  Her voice was pitched much higher than usual, and she took several quick breaths in an attempt to calm herself.  “I don't remember much.  After I caught the taint it all runs together.”  
  
“Your presence will still be helpful.”  Nathaniel frowned. “You have been back to the Deep Roads since?”  She nodded.  Each time had been awful, but the anticipation of those trips was nothing like the dread that had settled in her stomach now.  Bethany looked at her fingers, twisted in her lap, and desperately tried to think of an excuse not to go.  But every reason sounded transparent, even in her own head.  
  
“Good,” Nathaniel was saying.  “You know how to pack, then.  We're reprovisioning today and tomorrow, and we'll leave the day after that.”  Feeling trapped, Bethany just nodded again.  She refused his offer to introduce her to the rest of the expedition that night, and left as soon as he gave her an opening.  
  
Her room held no comfort.  While it had never felt like home, the easy familiarity of years had its own solace that she had come to rely on.  Tonight the bare walls and simple furnishings only served to remind her of how little an imprint she'd allowed herself to make.  The ring she'd been so proud of just an hour earlier was meaningless, and the still blank sheets of paper mocked her.  What would she write anyway?  _Dear Sister, I wish you were here, solving all my problems by banging heads together._    
  
Bethany gave a soft snort of amusement that only just stopped short of turning into a sob.  Marian would, too.  She rubbed a hand over her eyes, tired and sick of everything.  Her thoughts skittered around the knowledge that she would soon be re-entering the Deep Roads as she undressed and crawled into bed.  Her empty stomach protested, but the thought of braving the mess hall made her feel even more exhausted.  She unfolded Marian's letter again and read and re-read it until she drifted to sleep.  
  
* * *  
  
The first few days in the Deep Roads were not as bad as Bethany feared.  Yes, there was the occasional party of darkspawn, but Nathaniel was a good leader, much better than Bartrand, and the lack of shouting over every perceived failing alone was enough to make the trip more bearable.  To her surprise, the dwarves that accompanied the party were not Wardens, but explosive experts from Amaranthine.  When their head, Temmerin, found out she'd been in Kirkwall the same time as the Qunari and had dealings with them, she found herself peppered with questions about gatlock.  The fact that she'd never actually seen any made little difference.  
  
So she was less irked than she otherwise might have been when she proved Nathaniel right a week after they entered the Deep Roads.  He'd gone scouting and returned with news that the way ahead was blocked.  Temmerin was beside himself with glee.    
  
“I thought it'd be longer before I got to blow anything up,” he told Bethany.  He was so obviously excited about the prospect that she almost felt badly about speaking up.  
  
“There's a way around,” she said.  Nathaniel looked questioningly at her.  “It was blocked when we were down here too.  There's a side tunnel a little further up that connects back to the main road.”  
  
Temmerin sighed in disappointment.  “No boom, then?” he asked.  
  
“No boom,” Nathaniel deadpanned.  He laid a companionable hand on the dwarf's shoulder, “I'm sure we'll find something for you to blow up.  Personally, I'd rather not let the darkspawn know we're here just yet.”  He motioned for Bethany to follow him as he moved away from the others.  
  
“Do you remember the way?” he asked.  
  
“The first part, yes.  The second part is a little hazier.”  Her lips felt dry, and she licked them nervously.  “That's—I caught the taint there.  After a certain point I couldn't do much besides concentrate on following my sister.”  
  
“I'd like to have you with me while I check ahead, then,” Nathaniel said, and Bethany was absurdly grateful that he didn't try to offer her sympathy.  He went back briefly to inform the rest of the party of their plans, then collected her and led the way down toward the block in the road.  The steady pressure of darkspawn, present since they'd entered the tunnels, grew stronger as they went.  Nathaniel caught her slight shiver and gave her a wry smile.  “Another reason I would prefer not to announce our presence.”    
  
Bethany tried to smile back, but the attempt was weak.  She peered into the branching tunnels as they went, searching for anything that seemed familiar.  She stopped in front of one that took a sharp turn to the right a few feet in and let out a long breath.  “This is the one,” she said.  
  
Nathaniel closed his eyes.  “There are darkspawn fairly close.  We go in slowly.  If there's more than I think the two of us can handle, we leave.  No heroics.”  
  
She gave him a withering look, and he chuckled.  
  
The first group of darkspawn was small enough that Bethany was able to dispatch them with a couple of well-placed fireballs.  Nathaniel left them to her, and kept an arrow nocked in case there were any stragglers.  They made their way past exposed lyrium veins that made Bethany's blood sing, challenged  only by the occasional pair of genlocks, until they reached a set of narrow, roughly-hewn stone steps flanked by two huge pillars of rock jutting from the floor.  Bethany hesitated.  
  
“Wait,” she said, as Nathaniel started up the steps.  “Wait.  We were ambushed here.”  
  
The words were barely out of her mouth when an emissary shimmered into existence between them, and she scrambled to get a barrier up as genlocks came pouring down the stairs.  The first spell hit the edge of her shield like a hammer, and she staggered sideways before pulling the heat from the air around the emissary, freezing it solid.  She swung the weighted end of her staff and hit it squarely in the chest, shattering it.  
  
Nathaniel was sending shot after shot up the stairs, grim-faced.  The first few he'd killed had fallen on top of each other, slowing the descent of those following.  Bethany raised her arms, and—  
  
_—and there were so many of them.  Marian danced among them, dropping bodies as her sword arced through the air, making it impossible to throw any kind of spell for fear of hitting her.  And when it was over, she'd gone to wipe the blood away from Marian's face, felt her hand sting, and looked down to see the bright red of her own blood beneath a darker smear..._  
  
“Bethany!”  
  
She blinked, caught the fast unraveling of her spell and refocused, calling a blizzard to freeze every living thing on the steps.  She poured her magic into it, whipping the winds of the spell till they howled and flung the frozen bodies of the darkspawn to smash against the walls.  She heard Nathaniel curse softly beside her as she let the storm die down and the broken bodies that littered the steps became visible.  
  
“I see I will have to revise my notion of what two people can handle,” he said, lowering his bow.  She didn't reply, shaken by her sudden memory of the place.  
  
“Bethany?”  
  
She took a shaky breath.  “I'm sorry.  I'm sorry.  It– It was such a stupid thing.  I scraped the back of my hand on one of the rocks, and didn't even realize it was bleeding until– until I...”  
  
Nathaniel looked up the stairs, and Bethany knew he was gauging how far away the next group of darkspawn were.  Whatever he felt must have reassured him, because he unstrung his bow and put his hand under her elbow, guiding her to sit on one of the fallen pieces of masonry.  
  
“I was conscripted myself,” he said, taking a seat beside her.  “The circumstances were not as dire as yours, but I had as little choice in the matter.”  
  
“I'm sorry,” she said again.  “Just give me a minute, and I'll be over it.”  
  
Nathaniel made a dismissive motion with one hand.  “I have no complaints,” he said with a pointed look back at the stairs.  She laughed weakly.  “You were incredibly lucky to have found Wardens so soon after you caught the taint.”  
  
The lift at the end of the sentence was slight enough that she could ignore it, if she chose.  But wasn't that what she'd been doing for years now?    
  
“We had an—someone who knew the Wardens were in the area with us,” Bethany stumbled, remembering almost too late that Anders had run _away_ from the Wardens.  “Marian—my sister—practically dragged me to them.”  
  
Nathaniel frowned. “You almost sound like you wish she had not.”  
  
What was she supposed to say to that?  Yes, sometimes?  No, of course not?  Both answers were true, and that was the problem.  Bethany settled for a noncommittal shrug.  
  
Nathaniel stood.  “I think we can bring the party this far, at least.  Are you recovered?”  She nodded, and he offered his hand to help her rise.  He held her hand for a moment longer as he looked seriously at her.  “Bethany.  A Warden's life is hard, but it is not a bad one.  I would not have chosen it, but I know myself for a better man because of it.”  
  
She pulled her hand away.  “So I should be grateful?” she asked, spitting out the last word.  
  
“No.  That is not—never mind,” he said with a weary sigh that made her feel like she was five again.  The return trip was spent without further conversation.  She felt resentful for being made to feel childish and he no doubt had no interest in talking to someone who snapped at him with little provocation.  Bethany was grateful when they rejoined the rest of the group and she could slip away from the uncomfortable silence.  
  
She kept to the back with the dwarfs as the company retraced the path back through the tunnels.  Nathaniel's gaze lingered on her a few times when he checked back to make sure everyone was still together, but he made no further effort at conversation.  The company had to halt for a bit when they reached the stone stairs again to clear them of the darkspawn bodies so the dwarfs could haul up their small carts and barrels of explosives.  It was a messy job, with Bethany's ice long since melted to coat the steps in a mixture of blood and entrails.  More than a few of the other Wardens made appreciative noises at the carnage and looked at her with new respect.    
  
Then there were more tunnels, less familiar than before.  Bethany barely remembered more than the vague shapes of the passages, consumed as she had been with the pain of the corruption in her blood.  Clarity came only in flashes, such as when she would look at a stone formation and suddenly remember leaning against it, bone-tired, in that awful moment when she had no longer been able to lie to herself about the burning ache that permeated every inch of her body.  She withdrew into herself, ignoring the overtures of her fellow Wardens until they gave up and let her be, everything focused on simply not falling apart.  Even Nathaniel left her alone when it became obvious her memory was of no more use.  
  
By the time disaster struck, Bethany had entirely lost track of the days.  That there were darkspawn nearby was no surprise; all of the Wardens had been on edge for the last day or so.  Their current path had branched several times into smaller tunnels blocked by rock from floor to ceiling a few feet in, and in too many of them the presence of darkspawn could be felt just beyond.  But rocks could be shifted, and Bethany was not the only one to find herself glancing over her shoulder, rear guard or not.  
  
They had just reached a great hall when the attack came.  The small group of darkspawn camped behind a pile of rubble was quickly dispatched, and Nathaniel had just ordered Temmerin to the front to inspect what looked like a false wall when the ever-present tug of darkspawn surged.  There was a rumble from the tunnel and the very ground began to shake.  Bethany cast a paralysis glyph just as an ogre thundered around the corner, holding it in place and blocking the entrance for the hurlocks behind it.  She took the moment's respite to send lightning forking down the tunnel, and was readying a third spell when her glyph suddenly dissipated.    
  
Emissary, Bethany thought, gripping her staff tighter.  A hand grabbed her arm and yanked her back.  Bethany struggled to remember the man's name as he raised his shield to block the first blow from the ogre.  
  
“Mages to the back!” he called over his shoulder.    
  
Daren.  Bethany recalled his name as she retreated, lobbing fireballs over the ogre to keep him from being overwhelmed as she went.  His name was Daren.  He was joined by the other swordsmen, and Nathaniel circled to try to find an angle down the tunnel.  
  
Bethany cast a few protective spells, unable to do much else with her fellow Wardens in her line of sight, and kept an eye out for the emissary.  The ogre went down and the hurlocks began climbing over it almost before its body hit the floor.  Bethany drifted from side to side, gritting her teeth in frustration as the others continued to block her spell's path.  
  
The ground shook again, and Bethany barely had time to feel the air constrict, like a sharp intake of breath, before a force spell unleashed itself at the mouth of the tunnel.  It was powerful enough to lift the ogre's body and fling it into the Wardens, unblocking the mouth of the tunnel.  The body pinned one of swordsmen as it landed and jarred his sword from his hand.  
  
Temmerin shouted and Bethany looked back just in time to see the false wall collapse.  The dwarf with him never stood a chance, head smashed in by a mace before he even finished turning.    
  
“Nathaniel!”  Bethany shouted and ran toward the dwarfs before waiting to see if he heard.  She called fire and threw it above Temmerin's head, making the genlocks snarl and flinch backwards.  The hole in the wall was high, but narrow.  She might be able to hold it by herself.    
  
The genlocks were pushed forward from behind, and one massive hand grasped the edge of the rough doorway.  Bethany sent a panicked wave of cold toward the genlocks as the ogre stuck its horned head through the opening and roared.  Her ears rang and she stood frozen, dazed and disoriented.  The ogre shoved its shoulders forward, feet smashing the frozen genlocks, and fixed its eyes on her.    
  
Move, Bethany told herself.  _Move!_   The ogre raised its hand, and she saw Carver, half of her heart forever left broken at Lothering.  Its hand curled into a fist, and she saw Marian and the look in her eyes as she cut their brother's killer off at the knees before burying her sword in its heart.  Marian, who she was still mad at, still wanted to yell at, wanted to blame, to thank, to bury her head on her shoulder and cry until she believed the awkward assurances Marian whispered in her ear.    
  
The flames roared as they burst from her, a white-hot inferno that engulfed the ogre and swept through the tunnel behind it.  The darkspawn screamed in agony.  She only let the spell go when they turned silent, the ogre nothing but a charred corpse before her.  Bethany swayed, low on mana and feeling lightheaded.  
  
“Maker's Breath.”  Bethany turned her head to see Daren staring.  “And to think Nathaniel thought you needed backup,” Daren put out an arm to steady her as she swayed again.  The two other Wardens with him—Hal, and the elf was Mihai, Bethany thought—moved to check the tunnel for survivors.    
  
“Lyrium,” Bethany managed, and Daren quickly found a vial in a belt pouch and uncorked it before passing it to her.  It helped.  “Temmerin?” she asked, looking around for the dwarf.  
  
“The powder's okay, they just got Geir there.”  From his tone, he thought it a fair exchange.  Hal and Mihai returned.  
  
“All clear,” Mihai said.  He looked back to where the rest of the Wardens still fought.  “We should—”  He cut off as the stone beneath them shook yet again, stronger than any of the previous times.  Two sections of the wall between them and the others fell in, and darkspawn streamed out, half heading their way, the other half flanking the group by the tunnel entrance.  
  
“Bethany?” Daren asked urgently.  
  
“I can't do anything big for a few minutes yet,” she said, still feeling her reserves replenish.  He nodded, and took point, Hal and Mihai fanning out to either side to form a semi-circle in front of her and Temmerin.  She scraped together enough energy to cast a defensive shield over each of them before the first wave of darkspawn hit.  They broke the first assault, and the second, before Bethany felt recovered enough to start throwing offensive spells again.  And still the darkspawn kept coming.  
  
“Back,” Daren hauled Hal up as he fell to one knee.  He looked around desperately.  “Down the stairs.”  Bethany emptied another lyrium potion and laid down a line of repulsion glyphs to cover their retreat.  “Dwarf!” Daren barked as Temmerin tried to drag a barrel with him.  “Leave it!”  Temmerin looked affronted at the very thought and had to be pulled away by Mihai.  Bethany looked back as they reached the top of the stairs.  Darkspawn bodies littered the area, but the other Wardens had still been pushed back into the tunnel; there would be no help coming from that direction.    
  
There was a small alcove at the bottom of the stairs.  Daren put Hal's back against the wall where he could lean heavily, favoring his right leg.  Bethany and Mihai arrived with Temmerin a moment later and took position in front of the entrance.    
  
And waited.  
  
Mihai shifted nervously.  “Where are they?”  He looked at Daren, who nodded.  Mihai darted out and crept slowly up the stairs until he could peer over the top edge.  Bethany moved back to check Hal's leg.  She sighed in relief as she found the knee twisted, but no bones broken.  Mihai returned, looking troubled.  
  
“They aren't moving,” he said.  “It's almost like they're waiting for something.”  
  
Daren cursed.  Bethany ignored the spike of fear that the words brought and began healing Hal's leg.  It took longer than it should have and would be easy to reinjure, but it would do.  Hal pushed off from the wall and stomped his leg, testing, before he looked at Daren.  
  
“Well?”  
  
Daren shook his head.  “I don't think we can break through.  Do you know where this path leads?” he asked Bethany.  
  
“I think we're almost to the thaig,” she said.  “There is, or was, a way back to the surface through it.  But we only went that way because the door was blocked behind us.  It could be still.”  
  
“I don't like the idea of getting trapped even deeper down,” Hal said.  
  
“I don't like the idea of waiting to see what those darkspawn are waiting for,” Mihai shot back.  
  
Bethany was silent.  The adrenaline of battle was wearing off, and the remembered feeling of being trapped and helpless was creeping in.      
  
Daren strode out and closed his eyes, facing away from the stairs.  After a few moments, he re-opened them.  “There's at least one large group and several smaller groups that way, but I can't tell how far apart they are.”  
  
“We don't have much in the way of provisions either,” Mihai pointed out.  
  
Temmerin glared at them all.  “I'm not leaving my powder for those darkspawn to get a hold of.  Should've let me blow it up.”  
  
Bethany caught her breath. “Would that work?  Surely we could hold them off long enough to set the fuses.”  
  
“Won't even need to do that.”  Temmerin mimed a throwing motion, “You just do that fireball trick of yours, and they'll blow.  Need to be big ones, though.”  
  
“Perfect,” Daren said.  “We can push through right after the explosions and—” he stopped as Bethany shook her head.  
  
“I can't,” she said.  “I could get a small one off, maybe, but I'm almost out of mana.”  
  
“Lyrium?”  
  
“I used my last one on our retreat.  I had more on the cart.”  
  
“How long till you're ready?”  
  
Bethany considered it.  Normally the lyrium found in the Deep Roads bolstered mana regeneration, but it felt wrong here.  Not quite like it had in the ancient thaig, but wrong enough.  “At least six hours,” she told Daren.  “It takes longer to come back naturally after using so many lyrium potions.”  
  
“That's a long time to wait,” Hal said.  
  
“It's the best option we have,” Daren told him.  “All right.  Bethany, you rest.  Mihai, you're on first watch, I'll take second.  Let's hope whatever the darkspawn are waiting for is late.”  
  
Bethany sat in the corner, pulling her legs up and resting her staff against them.  She didn't expect to be able to sleep with darkspawn so nearby, but she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall anyway.  She was afraid and drained in more ways than one.  Still, when Daren shook her, the motion pulled her back from the outer edges of the Fade, though true sleep had eluded her.  She did a quick internal assessment and frowned at him.  
  
“I know,” he said.  “It's only been a few hours, but there's movement.  I don't think we can wait any longer.  Here,” he passed her a couple of lyrium potions.  “Mihai risked a quick scout of the area and found these stashed a little further in.”  Bethany immediately drank half of one.  
  
“Daren,” Hal said  He stood a little ways out from the shelter of the alcove, looking up the stairs.  “We need to go now.”  
  
“Don't cast unless you absolutely have to.” Daren gave Bethany his hand to pull her up.  “Save it for the explosives.  Stay with her,” he said to Temmerin.  
  
They almost made it.  At the foot of the stairs, they all felt the shift in the air; halfway up they heard the rush of darkspawn as they approached their position.  Daren met the first genlock on the last step up.  He put his shoulder down and threw his weight behind his shield to try and clear a path.  Mihai joined him on his shield side.  Hal tried to cover the opposite side, but the stairs were too narrow.  Bethany hovered uselessly behind them, still too far down to get an angle on the barrels of powder.  
  
Once, twice, Daren and Mihai tried to break through, but the darkspawn had the high ground and the advantage of fresh fighters.  Despite their best efforts, they found themselves pushed back down the stairs.  
  
Bethany retreated several steps.  A blizzard, like the one she'd called days earlier.  They could smash their way back up and she could still set off the explosives.  
  
“Cover me,” she shouted to Hal as she began gathering energy.  Daren and Mihai still held the darkspawn to the foot of the stairs, but even as Hal squared off in front of her, genlocks began jumping over the side.  His sword flashed as Bethany started the spell.  Ice.  Wind.  More energy to expand the target area  Thread it all together and—  
  
A heavy weight sent Bethany reeling back and she lost the spell.  Hal stared up at her, helmet gone and his jaw half-shorn off.  He breathed, once, blood bubbling in his mouth on the exhale, and then was still.  
  
The darkspawn pressed forward and Bethany had to fall back, leaving Hal where he had fallen.  Daren and Mihai were doing the same.  The passage opened behind them into another great hall.  Lava flowed along one side and there was another set of steps on the far end of the hall, leading up to a narrow tunnel.  If they could get to it, they might be able to mount a proper defense.  
  
Bethany drank the rest of the first lyrium potion and cast rejuvenation spells on the party before remembering Temmerin.  He wasn't with them  She sent a bolt of lightning into the approaching darkspawn, quickly scanning behind them when they fell.  Nothing.  She could only hope the darkspawn had ignored him in favor of the Wardens.    
  
She led the retreat, Daren and Mihai guarding the flank.  Once she gained the high ground, she would have a clear shot at the darkspawn without the worry of hitting her companions.  She risked a quick look over her shoulder; they were almost halfway across the hall.  
   
A side door opened, and an ogre, closely followed by hurlocks, circled behind them, cutting off their retreat.  At her cry, Daren shifted to meet the new threat, leaving Bethany to hold the middle.  
  
There was little strategy to the fight now.  Bethany caught the downward swing of a sword with her staff and blasted the genlock at close quarters  She was pulling energy as fast as she could, able to do nothing more than give it the most basic of shapes before hurling it into the enemy.  Darkspawn fell only to be replaced by those behind them.  She saw Mihai go down, run through by a spear with a wickedly hooked blade.  Daren was surrounded, still yelling battle cries to draw the darkspawn to him.  Even as she set the closest genlock aflame, she saw the ogre put its head down and charge, scattering hurlocks before slamming into Daren.  The impact flung his shield arm to one side and a hurlock took advantage of the moment to stick its sword up in the joint of his armor between the shoulder and arm.  Another grabbed his shield arm and pulled it back, and even through the din Bethany could heard the pop and Daren's cry of pain as it was ripped from its socket.  They tore his helmet off and yanked his head back by the hair.  A genlock opened its mouth to show its teeth and leaned in over his exposed throat and she couldn't, she couldn't watch.  
  
A blast of ice gave her a moment's breathing space, but the lava was at her back and all other routes were five deep in darkspawn.  Her mana was almost gone and she had only the one lyrium potion left.  Desperate, Bethany cast a barrier spell.  The hurlocks hit the edge and stopped, frustrated by the impenetrable shimmer of air.  Bethany opened her last potion with shaking fingers and drank it.  The darkspawn watched her as she did so.  The ogre came up to the very edge of the spell and stared at her, eyes dark and hungry.  It bared its teeth at her and slammed its fist down, halted a fingerlength from the top of her head.  It snorted in frustration and began pacing back and forth.  The spell would only last a few moments, and they both knew it.  
  
She was going to die.  
  
The knowledge was a bleak thing.  She was going to die and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.  She didn't want to die.  
  
Bethany put her hand to her chest, feeling the crinkle of paper where she had tucked Marian's last letter.  Marian would be mad.  She'd rail against the inevitable and beat it down through sheer stubbornness.  Bethany wasn't her sister.  
  
One final spell, as large as she could make it, and then she would throw herself into the lava.  She knew what the darkspawn did to women.  Alistair made sure they all knew when he took over after Stroud's Calling.  She didn't want to die, but the alternative was unthinkable.  
  
The barrier spell was winding down.  Bethany took a deep breath in a futile attempt to steady herself before the end.  
  
There was a series of explosions back up the passage.  Temmerin, Bethany thought.  Oh, Maker keep you.  The darkspawns' attention was diverted; there was no better time.  She was about to drop the shield when the ogre who had been pacing roared and headed toward the stairs, the other darkspawn following.  She looked over and for one heady moment was sure she'd gone mad.  There was no other reason why she should be seeing her sister, here, in the middle of the blighted Deep Roads.  
  
Relief so sharp it was painful flooded through her.  Marian was here.  She was _here_.  
  
Bethany barely remembered casting any more spells, but she must have, because by the time her sister fought her way over and lopped the head off the final darkspawn more than a few bodies were rimed with frost.  Marian lowered her sword and looked at her.  Bethany stared back.  There were others with her, but Bethany had eyes for no one else.  
  
Marian gave a little half-shrug when Bethany failed to do or say anything.  “I see I needn't have written,” she said.  There was silver in her hair, and lines by her eyes that hadn't been there the last time they'd met.  “Anyone else make it?”  
  
“I—no.”  Bethany finally tore her eyes away from Marian to look at the others.  Anders, looking worn and scraped thin; Varric, who gave her an easy grin; and Fenris, who was ignoring her to frown at Marian.  And Nathaniel, just Nathaniel, who met her eyes in acknowledgment and shook his head.  No other survivors.  
  
Marian pulled her attention back. “Are you all right?”  
  
Bethany laughed.  She couldn't help it.  Was she _all right_?  The adrenaline from the fight was wearing off, and she had space to think again, to remember Mihai's look of disbelief at the shaft of the spear jutting from his chest, and the noises the darkspawn had made after she had looked away from Daren.  She laughed again, the sound teetering on the edge of hysterical.  Anders took a hard look at her and a moment later she felt the warm glow of a rejuvenation spell.  He pressed an elfroot potion in her hands and ordered her to drink it.  After she complied, he peered into her eyes before giving Marian a reassuring nod.  Not her, Marian.  It was like being seven all over again.  
  
“Why?” Bethany asked, and as if it was some prearranged signal, everyone but Marian suddenly decided to be doing something else several feet away.  
  
Marian cocked her head.  “Nathaniel's sister got worried about him being away for so long and came to Kirkwall to recruit a rescue party.  And you know me, I think I can solve everyone's problems.”    
  
“I know,” Bethany said, and Marian winced slightly.  Bethany drew breath to apologize—she hadn't meant _that_ , truly—but three feet and years of resentment separated them and she had no idea how to bridge the gap.  Now was the time, she knew.  She should say thank you and tell her sister she missed her, and then she could lay her head on Marian's shoulder and things would start to be all right between them again.  
  
Bethany looked beyond Marian, where Nathaniel was just rising from Mihai's body.  He said something to Anders, who nodded shortly and began burning the body.  
  
“I used to think nothing really bad could happen to me if you were around,” she said.  
  
“Beth—” Marian's voice broke.  
  
“I know,” Bethany said.  “I know it's not your fault.  But—” she looked helplessly at Marian.  “I _can't_.”  
  
Marian's face went unreadable.  “All right,” she said, after she took a turn watching Nathaniel and Anders.  She drew herself up and Bethany could feel the distance between them increase.    “Let's see if the others are about ready to go.  I don't think this is anyone's favorite place to be.”  
  
It was an awkward trip back to the surface.  Besides the tension between herself and Marian, it turned out Nathaniel had served with Anders and Justice right after the Blight and was not happy to discover what had happened in the years since.  The only bright spot was finding Temmerin alive and well-pleased with himself before they camped the first day.  They moved faster without the carts from the trip in, but it still took over a week before they saw daylight again.    
  
Nathaniel declined Marian's offer of lodging in Kirkwall, citing the need to return to Ansburg as quickly as possible.  He did give her a message and enough coin to ensure safe passage back to Ferelden for his sister.  He stepped away with Temmerin, giving Bethany space to say her good-byes.  
  
Anders gave her a few more lyrium potions, Fenris contented himself with a nod, and Varric took both of her hands in his and solemnly promised that their next meeting would involve dancing and Orlesian silks.  She couldn't help smiling a little, and he squeezed her hands before releasing them.  
  
And then it was just her and Marian.  Before she could say anything, Marian closed in and gave her a quick hard hug, letting go and stepping back before Bethany could respond.    
  
“I'm still going to write,” Marian said.  “I know it's selfish, but you're my sister and I love you.  Feel free to write back and yell at me for it.”  
  
“I will,” Bethany said, surprising them both.  “I mean, I'll try.”  Marian's eyes shone at that, and for a second Bethany thought she might hug her again.  But she didn't, just pressed Bethany's hand once in farewell before departing.  
  
It was a start.  Heart lighter than it had been in ages, Bethany turned and set her face towards Ansburg.


	5. Chapter 5

_Sunshine,_

_Your sister had a visit from some of my less law-abiding kinfolk. She's too distracted to think of it now, but they made a bit of noise about Hawke blood. I know you two are on the outs, but it'd do her good to hear they had no better luck with you._

_Fondly,  
Varric_

_P.S. The ribbon is Orlesian silk. You didn't think I forgot, did you?_

_[in another, messier hand]  
I found that ribbon. Don't let him sweet talk you. That's _ my _job. Kisses, Isabela._

* * *

 “I'm starting to think you're bad luck, Varric,” Hawke said as she pushed ineffectually against the barrier that had sprung up behind them.

“Says the woman rich enough to thumb her nose at half of Hightown.”

“Somehow I don't think there's treasure at the end of this road.” Hawke banged against it one last time with the pommel of her sword. The barrier unobligingly remained unchanged.

“With your luck? Never say never.” Varric met her exasperated look with a grin. Hawke rolled her eyes and turned to her other companions.

“Looks like we'll be taking the long way back out,” she said. “Hope no one had any pressing business.” Bethany compressed her lips, no doubt finding her sense of humor as inappropriate as always. Didn't frown or snap at her though, so that was an improvement. Fenris just shrugged. At least they weren't stuck in tunnels this time. No lava to make the air burn their lungs or inexpertly shored up walls that looked a breath away from caving in.

Hawke had to revise her opinion a few moments later, as they crossed a crumbling stone bridge. She made the mistake of glancing down through a fallen section and yes, she still hated heights with a passion. All that empty space made her lightheaded and if she fell there would be nothing she could do but watch helplessly as the ground rushed towards her. She felt herself leaning forward over the edge and jerked back. Her back hit hard metal, and Fenris caught her arm to steady her.

Hawke managed a smile and said, “Stupid ground has no business being that far down.” His look of concern eased a bit and he almost smiled back, but then he realized he was still holding her arm and abruptly removed his hand.

“Watch yourself,” Fenris said, but there was no real heat in the words. He stalked away, leaving Hawke to rub at where his hand had been. She glanced at Bethany, who was looking over the edge with more composure than Hawke had managed. She kicked a stone over the side and Hawke saw her lips move, counting, as she watched it fall. The count went far too long for Hawke's liking, especially with Bethany standing right on the edge.

Bethany straightened back up when the stone hit bottom and caught Hawke watching. She flushed a little, embarrassed to be caught at a children's game, and raised her chin, daring Hawke to say something. Hawke had no such intention. It was reassuring to see Bethany doing something so innocent; it told her she hadn't ruined her sister's life completely.

She stayed silent as they went deeper, letting Varric and Fenris take the lead, and giving Bethany space to talk if she wanted. But her sister seemed content to travel in silence, and Hawke ended up breaking first.

“You've been awfully quiet. You okay?” Hawke asked.

“I'm not going to fall to pieces, if that's what you mean,” Bethany said.

“Well, you know. The whole trapped underground thing. Not pleasant for any of us.”

“I'm fine.”

She didn't look fine, but Hawke backed off and cast about for another topic of conversation. They hadn't had much of a chance to talk yet. Bethany had shown up right in the middle of Hawke chasing down leads with Varric, and while their exchanges had none of the barbs of previous meetings, they had been achingly cordial, both of them wary of venturing beyond the safety of polite conversation.

She's writing, Hawke reminded herself. Don't push too hard.

She wanted to. For most of her life she'd dealt with problems by applying force until they gave up and went away. Or died. Hawke sighed. Mother would have been proud. Between her sister and Fenris, she'd finally had to learn patience.

Speaking of. Varric and Fenris were coming back, and by the looks on their faces, it wasn't good news.

“Darkspawn,” Fenris said. Hawke looked at Bethany, startled.

“I did sense something,” Bethany said, troubled. “But it's pretty far away yet, and it doesn't feel like a normal darkspawn.” She got a distant look on her face. “It's like someone’s singing.”

Her voice was almost wistful, and Hawke was gripped with the sudden urge to shake her.

“I have never heard of darkspawn singing,” Fenris said, watching Bethany with narrowed eyes.

“No...” Bethany shook her head to herself and shivered. “No,” she repeated. “Whatever it is, it's nothing good.”

“First things first,” Hawke said. “Let's take care of those darkspawn. We'll worry about the other later.”

The path took them back to an enclosed hallway that ran straight with only a few small rooms on either side. Near the end, it turned right and Varric held up a hand.

“Spotted them around the corner. It's a big room,” he said. Hawke nodded and took a quick peek. It looked like there was another door, blocked, on the far side. The darkspawn were gathered around it with their backs to her. She looked at the others and jerked her head before charging into the room. Thankfully, it was a small group. Bethany and Varric picked most of them off before they got close enough to bring blades into play. Hawke and Fenris quickly dispatched the few remaining. Hawke ran an unobtrusive eye over Fenris after, checking to make sure he was uninjured. Satisfied, she looked at the room more closely. The far door was almost completely covered by a thick, angled piece of metal. From the spikes on the side facing them, Hawke assumed it was meant to serve as a blockade. It was head-high and looked too heavy to shift by hand. Hawke worried her bottom lip, trying to remember if their path here had branched.

A glimmer of light along the edge of the doorway caught her eye and she moved toward it to examine it more closely. If there was a gap, they might be able to leverage it enough to slip through. She was almost within arms reach when Bethany gave a cry of warning. The metal shuddered, then the whole heavy weight of it lifted as the darkspawn behind it wielded it like a shield and charged. Hawke was too close to dodge it completely. She twisted just in time for it to meet her left side instead of slamming into her head-on. The impact threw her off her feet and she landed hard on her back, gasping desperately for air.

The heat of a fire spell rushed over her head. It held the darkspawn long enough for Hawke gather the breath to roll out of the path of its second charge, wincing as the motion jarred her bruised side. There was a metallic rasp as Fenris's sword met the shield, scraping uselessly against the thick metal. The darkspawn slammed its shield forward and Fenris staggered back, stunned. It brought the shield back around to block a blast of ice from Bethany, preparing to charge again, and Hawke had to get up _right now_.

A few well-placed bolts from Varric turned the creature's head away from her and then Hawke was up, ignoring the protest from her ribs, and it took only a few steps to plunge her blade into the darkspawn's unprotected back. Its fall pulled her forward, and she ended up draped awkwardly over the hilt of her sword. Bethany was at her side a moment later. She helped Hawke straighten, running worried hands over her arm and ribs.

“I'm sorry,” Bethany said. “I don't know why I didn't sense it sooner.”

“I've had worse,” Hawke said lightly, because she had and Bethany wasn't to blame. Bethany's hands began to glow with the cool blue of a healing spell, but Hawke stopped her when she caught sight of Fenris. “No. Heal him first.”

“I am fine,” he said.

Hawke pushed Bethany's hands away. “Him first,” she repeated. Fenris's shoulders set in the way that meant he was about to be stubborn. Bethany looked between them, hesitating.

“You are hurt worse,” Fenris said.

“ _I'm_ not bleeding,” Hawke snapped. He blinked at her, then raised a hand to his head, surprised when it came back wet with blood. Hawke looked at Bethany, then back at Fenris. “Please,” she said, not sure who she was asking. It seemed to make up Bethany's mind, because she went to Fenris, glaring at him when he opened his mouth to argue again. He submitted ungraciously, muttering something under his breath that made Bethany snort.

Varric pulled Hawke's sword from the darkspawn's body, and let her lean on him as he helped her take the few steps necessary to prop up the wall. Her side was starting to ache in earnest, and she suspected she'd cracked a rib. She tilted her head back against the wall and tried to keep her breaths shallow. Bethany confirmed her suspicions after she finished with Fenris.

“Is it too much to hope you've gotten better at bones?” Hawke asked.

“I can leave it alone, if you'd prefer.”

“Ouch,” Hawke winced. Despite her words, Bethany had started healing her before she finished speaking, and Hawke could feel her rib shift back into place with a scraping motion that just felt _wrong_. The bruising went easier and at the end she was able to take a deep breath without even a twinge of pain.

“Thanks,” she said, reaching out to curl a strand of her sister's hair around her finger. It was an old habit, born from the days when Bethany would heal minor scrapes and bruises so their parents wouldn't know when Hawke got a little too confident against trees, cliffs, annoying older boys from town, and on one occasion which Hawke had made Bethany swear never, ever to tell Carver about, a territorial goose. Bethany glanced up, face open for the first time in years. Hawke smiled at her and tugged the bit of hair. Bethany swatted at her hand in exasperation, but she was smiling too as Hawke pushed herself away from the wall and went to reclaim her sword from Varric.

“Well, that takes care of the doorway being blocked,” Hawke said. Bethany rolled her eyes. She went to check the hall beyond and Varric followed after look from Hawke. He said something to Bethany as he caught up with her and her hand went to her hair, fingers running over the blue ribbon holding it back. She shook her head and smiled as she answered him back. Varric put a hand to his chest in mock affront and Bethany laughed. The sound made Hawke's heart ache.

“She seems less angry,” Hawke said softly. Fenris gave a distracted grunt, rubbing ineffectually at the blood on his temple with the heel of his hand. “Here, let me.” She pulled out a handkerchief and reached toward him. He stiffened, and for a second she thought he would pull away. Instead, he relaxed with almost deliberate effort and let her run the cloth over the curve of his eyebrow and down to his cheekbone. “I'm sorry I snapped at you,” she said.

He half-shrugged, a bit of hair falling over one eye. She pushed it back without thinking and then wondered what he'd do if she tugged it like she had Bethany's. Probably not let her get this close again for months. He was silent for a minute while she wiped away the blood. Then, “Family is not something to be discarded lightly. It's good that Bethany realized that.”

“It was hardly done lightly,” Hawke said, stung by the implicit criticism of her sister. She might have been frustrated by Bethany's complete refusal to communicate for years, but that didn’t mean other people could comment on it.

“I meant it as a compliment.”

“Hmph. Your compliments need work.”

Fenris chuckled a bit. The blood was gone, but Hawke refolded the handkerchief and ran it gently over his temple again. She was pushing her luck with the caress and was surprised when he leaned into it, so slightly that she wasn't sure he was aware of doing so. She paused, fingers pressed to his cheek through the thin barrier of fabric. For a long moment, they simply looked at each other, until Hawke saw the regret creep into Fenris's eyes and she pulled away before he could voice it.

Catching up with Bethany, she found Varric halfway through the story of their last sad trip to the Bone Pit. Hawke would not have thought a tale of the mass slaughter of men guilty of nothing more than trying to earn a living while being Ferelden in Kirkwall to be the obvious choice in their current situation, but what did she know?

“A high dragon,” Bethany said flatly, as Hawke got closer. “Is that more or less impressive than killing the Qunari war leader?”

“Honestly? I'd rather fight the dragon again.”

Bethany shook her head in disbelief. “Alistair said the archdemon was a high dragon. The Arishok was worse?”

Hawke shrugged. “I didn't fight the dragon by myself.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“I'm just used to you having to do everything by yourself.”

Hawke shrugged again, “Guess I learned better.” That earned her skeptical looks not just from Bethany, but both Varric and Fenris as well. She _had_. It wasn't like she asked people to keep coming to her with their problems. A curious noise came from Bethany, and it took Hawke a moment to realize she was trying not to laugh.

“Oh, shut up,” Hawke told her.

Bethany gave an unconvincing cough and wisely changed the subject. “I think the Wardens had a hand in making this place. See the walls?”

Hawke looked. “And I thought the de Launcets were bad. Do Wardens usually slap their crest on to every empty surface?” She was struck by a nasty thought. “Is this why you came?”

“What? No! I didn't know about any of this.”

“Right. Sorry.” Hawke looked around again. Other than the huge gryphon crests hanging on the walls, there was nothing remarkable about the room. Though there could always be something promising around the next corner, she thought sarcastically.

Bethany drifted toward one of the crests. “I don't think they're just for show. This one has magic in it.”

“Could it be what's keeping us in?”

“I don't know.” Bethany's hand brushed lightly over its surface in cautious exploration. It started glowing, and Hawke sprung forward and yanked her away as the glow coalesced into a ball that shot away and around the corner. Hawke opened her mouth to ask what just happened, when a voice began speaking. It was a man's voice, deep and deliberate, and Hawke barely heard the actual words it spoke because she knew that voice. It had been over a decade since she'd last heard it, but she knew it, she'd always know it.

Bethany looked as shaken as Hawke felt. “Father?” she asked.

“Is there another one?” Hawke was already checking the other crests. She didn't know if a non-mage would trigger the magic, but so much else had been linked to their father's blood that it seemed worth a try. She put a hand to the metal, hoping, but there was no glow, no repeat of her father's voice. Bethany tried it too, then all the other crests in the room, shoulders slumping a bit with each failure. Hawke felt her eyes prickle with the threat of tears and blinked rapidly. To have heard her father again, even for a moment, was an unlooked for gift; to hope for anything more was foolish. But, oh, she missed him. She'd stopped being just a daughter the moment he died, forced to step into the role of provider and protector for her family.

“Hawke.” Varric poked his head around the corner. She hadn't realized he'd gone ahead while she and Bethany poked desperately around the chamber. “You'll want to see this.”

 _This_ turned out to be a hunger demon. Hawke was between it and Bethany, sword drawn, before she realized it wasn't attacking, but held almost motionless in the small alcove. The glowing ball from earlier hovered in front of it.

“Okay, that's odd, right?” Hawke waved her sword in front of the demon, with no reaction.

“Sister.” Bethany had found another crest and held one hand inches away from it. “It has magic. Should I?”

Hawke looked at the demon again, and the glowing ball. Was it strengthening whatever held the thing or weakening it? “Weapons out,” she told Varric and Fenris, and gave Bethany a sharp nod.

There was no voice this time, but Hawke had no time to be disappointed, because the second glowing ball released the demon and it brought friends to the fight. But if there was one thing a decade in Kirkwall had taught her, it was how to kill creatures from the Fade. The battle was pitched, but brief, ending when Varric shot a bolt through the demon's throat and severed its hold on the physical world.

“That was invigorating,” Hawke began, when Bethany gasped. She spun, sword slicing through a smokey shape rising from the ground. It wavered briefly, then began speaking with her father's voice. She tried to focus on the words this time as they echoed around the chamber.

_... but I will have no one say my magic released demons into the world._

The shape faded, and Hawke couldn't help reaching out to trail a hand through it as it went. Tendrils of smoke followed the movement, curling and clinging to her fingers a moment longer.

“It's a trick,” Bethany said. Hawke curled her fingers into her palm as if this time she could somehow catch and keep some part of her father. Half a lifetime ago and the grief was still as sharp as if it were only days old. Had she ever really mourned him properly?  “Father would never have anything to do with demons. It goes against everything he ever taught me.”

“He never talked about his life before he met Mother,” Hawke said distantly, still looking at her fingers. “And he was binding them, not making deals with them.”

“This kind of binding them is making deals with them.” Bethany was agitated. “Its power was being used for something. You can't just use demons and walk away unscathed.”

“What are you saying?”

“The first rule of dealing with demons is not to trust _anything_.” Bethany's grip on her staff whitened her knuckles. “I want to believe that was really Father, but—”

“Then do,” Hawke cut her off, not wanting to hear the rest. “Or don't. If there are more demons, we'll kill them. That's what matters.”

“But if we don't know what they're being used for...”

Fenris broke in at that. “You think we should let demons live?”

Bethany looked uncomfortable. “I just think we might be better focusing on what's ahead.”

“You say that like you know what it is.” Fenris looked suspiciously at her.

“Bethany,” Hawke said, making _back down_ motions at Fenris. “Are you still hearing that singing?”

Bethany glared. “My mind is perfectly clear.”

Hawke wasn't sure about that, but this was hardly her area of expertise. She didn't usually have a whole lot of interaction with compromised mages before they tried to kill her. “Has it changed? Did it,” she was fumbling and knew it, “did it get louder, or, or change beats or something?”

“No,” Bethany said shortly. She looked like she wanted to say something else, but didn't. “Let's just keep moving.” She suited action to words, not bothering to see if anyone followed. Hawke did, of course, which meant Varric and Fenris did too, trailing along in the wake of her sister's offended stride as Bethany stomped through corridors before leading them unexpectedly into sunlight. They'd come upon the tower glimpsed from outside before they'd entered the warren of dwarven tunnels. Hawke blinked upwards, catching a bare hint of sky beyond the clouds circling the top of the tower. Its base was far below them, as if someone had bored a hole deep in earth and dropped the tower in. The wind whipped around the column, whistling on high and howling in the depths. A bridge stretched across the divide, dotted by a few indistinct mounds, and Hawke felt no urge to look over the side this time.

The clouds parted as they began to cross, sunlight dappling the bridge before them. The wind was too strong for the sun to warm them, but Hawke still raised her face to it as they went. A patch of light hit one of the mounds, and its oddly lumped shape resolved into a pile of darkspawn bodies. The back of the pile moved, and Hawke realized one of the bodies was merely hunched over the rest. Even as she drew her sword, it straightened and limped towards them.

“The key!” it said as it neared, and Hawke relaxed a fraction. Darkspawn didn't talk and she didn't see a weapon. The man—now that he was closer, she could see that's what he was—looked awful. His hair stuck out between bald patches in uneven clumps, and his face was a network of dark lines, skin pale and rotting around each corrupted vein. The stink coming from the man was overwhelming. Hawke took a small, unobtrusive step back, trying to breathe through her mouth. The man repeated himself, and after a moment Hawke figured out he was referring to the unwieldy sword she'd taken from one of the dwarves topside. She'd strapped it to her back, thinking she could sell it to one of the nobles who collected swords. The uglier and less practical one was, the more they seemed to think it was worth.

Hawke pulled the thing from her back and looked at it more closely. It was still ugly as sin, but now that she was holding it properly, it was also better balanced than she first thought. Definitely a sword though, no key-like properties at all. She said as much, and the man began shaking in agitation. He rambled about their family's blood—which was getting old, truthfully—and seals and ancient prisons, then promptly ran off, chanting “down and out, down and through” before Hawke could get any real sense out of him.

“Did anyone else follow that?” she asked. The question was met with universal shrugs. “Very helpful,” she muttered.

One pride demon later, the man reappeared, popping up like a particularly gruesome jack-in-the-box. Even without magic, Hawke could feel the demon's death had loosened something; there was a change in the air, one Hawke wasn't sure she liked. Whatever it was, it seemed to have made the man more lucid. He was still frustratingly vague on what the seals held, but he was clear that releasing them would also release the barrier around the prison. It was all a little too convenient for Hawke's tastes.

“And you know this how?” she asked.

Bethany nudged her. “Look at his armor.” Under the dirt and grime and dried somethings that Hawke didn’t want to look too closely at, there were glimpses of familiar blue and silver. “I think he might have been a Grey Warden.”

That set the man off again, his words a curious mix of confirmation and denial, focus swinging between Hawke and Bethany. Somewhere in the middle of it all he finally gave them a name—Larius—but a glance at Bethany told Hawke the name meant nothing to her either. Hawke's repulsion grew with each word as the unwelcome implications set in. Larius pulled his running trick again at the end of his rant, and Hawke forced her question out before she lost her nerve.

“I thought Wardens were immune to the taint?”

Hawke's stomach clenched as Bethany looked away. “Not exactly. We,” she paused and searched for the right words, “endure it.”

“Oh,” Hawke said faintly. “Then... that...” she trailed off, unable to say it out loud.

Bethany shrugged, the informal gesture at odds with the tightness in her bearing, “Sometimes. If we live that long. There's a reason the Calling exists.”

 _The Joining is not a cure_. Anders had said that so long ago. She should have made him explain. She should have made him tell her everything, secrecy be damned. He'd made it clear the Wardens no longer had any claim to his loyalty.

“You've known about this,” Hawke said.

“They tell us after the Joining.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Bethany laughed incredulously. “Because it's a _secret_ , sister. What would you have done? You gave me to the Wardens—they weren't going to let you take me back.”

“I didn't have much of a choice.” Hawke grabbed Bethany's staff as she huffed and tried to turn away. “I can't believe you're still mad at me for saving your life!”

“I'm not mad that you saved my life.”

Something finally broke at that, and Hawke didn't care that they might be within earshot of darkspawn, or that Fenris and Varric were watching with the awkward, trapped expressions of unwilling bystanders everywhere. “Not mad? I didn't hear from you for years—years!—and when we finally did see each other you could barely stand to look at me.”

Bethany yanked the staff away. “You abandoned me!”

Hawke gaped. Of all the things she felt guilty for, that she thought Bethany might blame her for, abandoning her was the one thing she never thought she'd be accused of. “What?” she managed. “I write you every month.”

“I didn't want letters. I wanted you. Stroud—”  A grimace of pain crossed Bethany's face. “He was awful. Those first few months—and there was nothing from you or Mother. And then there was, and your life had just gone on without me so easily.”

“It didn't. Maker, Bethany, it was half a year before we even heard you'd survived. There were so many times I wanted you. And after Mother—” Three years on, and her throat still closed up at the memory. “After she died, I needed you so badly.”

Bethany looked tired. “You've never needed anyone.”

“I needed you,” Hawke repeated. The words hung between them and she could see how much Bethany wanted to believe it. “I did,” she said, not knowing how to convince her if all her words over the past decade had not. “I—Beth,” she pleaded.

“I hate this,” Bethany whispered. “I don't want to be mad at you.”

In a perfect world, Hawke would know what to say to that, some apt phrase that would undo her sister's pain and put everything back the way it was. In this one, she could only fail her sister again. “I'm sorry,” she said helplessly.

“Yeah,” Bethany said, and Hawke knew the topic was closed.

 

They took the stairs down in silence. The floor below was much like the one above. Despite her misgivings, Hawke didn't see that they had much choice but to follow Larius's instructions. For the moment anyway, and she was keeping a watchful eye on Bethany. Her sister still found her ability to sense approaching darkspawn drowned out by whatever was at the center of the prison, and Hawke worried what it would do to her when all the seals were gone.

Hawke threw herself into the next group of darkspawn they encountered with almost reckless abandon. Fenris looked at her worriedly afterward as she stood panting in a circle of dead hurlocks, sword dripping blood at her feet. From the way another of the huge shield-bearing creatures sat smoking, metal bits warped and glowing, she wasn't the only one taking her emotions out on deserving targets.

They found more bound demons in halls that ran deceptively straight before twisting in on themselves to run back along their own length. The first burned with rage, and Hawke was happy to let Bethany turn it into frozen shards while she kept the lesser demons occupied. The indistinct figure of their father rose between them again, speaking of regret and necessity. Bethany's lips moved at the end, forming the words of Malcom's oft repeated mantra with it. The slight, distant look in her eyes faded a little as she did, and Hawke wondered if these smaller seals were meant to balance the larger ones, and if that was by the Wardens' design or just her father's.

There was little time to dwell on it. The darkspawn were coming faster and in greater numbers as they pushed forward. Hawke was starting to feel the first dull aches of bone-deep fatigue, and was almost grateful enough to kiss one of the gryphon crests when they stumbled across them again. For whatever reason, the darkspawn avoided the rooms where the demons were bound.

“Let's rest a moment,” she said when Bethany went to check the crests. Varric rummaged a moment in his coat pockets, then tossed them each an apple. Hawke looked at him suspiciously.

“What?” he asked.

“Since when do you carry food in your pockets?”

“Got in the habit back when Daisy got herself lost enough that she missed meals finding her way back.”

“Varric. That was years ago.”

“Just eat your apple, Hawke.”

She ate. It was bruised in a few spots, but still good. It helped.

Bethany released the first seal as Hawke tossed the apple core back the way they came. They followed the ball of light to a desire demon, held behind a barrier that shimmered like a heat wave. The demon twitched when the light came to rest before it, and Hawke was suddenly, _achingly_ , aware of Fenris, four steps back and to her left. The distance between them was almost painful, and she wondered what he would do if she closed it, pushing him against the wall and pushing herself through his walls until he broke and gave her what she wanted.

No. That was wrong. What she wanted—what she really wanted—

Hawke grasped the blade of her sword hard. It wasn't sharp so close to the hilt, but the edges dug into her hand and gave her something real to focus on. The demon's eyes flashed and mage or not, she could feel it grasping for another hold on her. Bethany found the second seal, and Hawke saw its hair grow longer and darker, skin turning a more natural hue, as the barrier fell.

A bolt thudded into its shoulder before it could complete the change, and Hawke spun away before it could try again. She focused on fighting the shades that rose from the corners of the room, not daring to look back to the desire demon until she heard its last indignant cry as it was pulled back across the Veil. Her father's voice rose as it faded.

Hawke knew he'd had a good reason for involving himself in Warden business. She hadn't suspected that she'd been the reason, she and her mother.

Bethany made a strange, soft sound next to her. “No wonder you were Father's favorite.”

“You were Mother's.”

Bethany smiled a little sadly at that. “And Carver was yours.” There was no resentment in the statement.

“I loved you both.”

“I know,” Bethany said. “It doesn't bother me. I just wish Carver had realized it.” She made that soft sound again and threaded her arm through Hawke's. “He was such an idiot.”

“He was.” Hawke tightened her grip, and for a moment there was nothing separating them, the distance bridged by their shared grief. Then Hawke cleared her throat. “Just so you know, I'm going to hit the next Warden we see, present company excepted.”

Bethany gave a shaky laugh and withdrew her arm. “Depending on the Warden, I might help.”

 

Hawke did not hit the next Warden she saw. She was tempted, half-mad though Larius was, but it seemed rather rude to deck the man after he’d provided them with their only known way out. He was growing more lucid, but his improved state only meant that he was cannier in avoiding her questions.

She had no such compunction with Janeka, and her only real regret in telling the second Warden what she thought of the idea of controlling a centuries-bound intelligent darkspawn was that she couldn't punctuate her refusal physically. Varric might have been able to get a bolt off through the flames Janeka raised to cover her retreat, but he had kept his attention on Larius while Hawke talked to the other Wardens.

Hawke blew her breath out in frustration. “At least it sounds like we're close to getting out of here.”

“I wonder,” Bethany said with a slight frown. “Did you notice that she didn't seem to realize they were trapped?”

“Or she simply does not care,” Fenris said.

Hawke hummed thoughtfully. “I don't think they came in the same way we did. There must be another way out. I mean, Father was able to leave without breaking all of these seals.”

“Baldy's gone ahead again. Want me to go get him so you can ask?” Varric caught Hawke's look and shrugged. “They can't all be as brilliant as 'Sunshine' and 'Elf'.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “We'll catch up soon enough.”

They found the final bound pride demon past pits that steamed and filled the air with stink of sulfur. It reminded Hawke of the poisoned air the Arishok had let been willing to unleash on Kirkwall; that had been the moment she'd lost any of her slowly growing, grudging respect for the Qunari leader. Maker, but she was so tired of people treating other people's lives as collateral damage. The Qunari had done it, the Chantry did it with mages, and here the Grey Wardens had put all of Kirkwall _—her_ city—at risk to keep an ancient darkspawn bound instead of dead for who knew what reason.

The thought made her killing stroke against the pride demon vicious, and she barely waited for it to fade away before she thrust the strange sword-key forward to complete the unsealing. It did whatever magic it did and there was a deep rumble above them. Bethany shuddered, then swayed like the ground had suddenly pitched beneath her.

“Easy, Sunshine.” Varric put a hand under Bethany's elbow. She took a deep breath and steadied herself.

“I'm okay,” Bethany said. “I just wasn't expecting that.”

“The singing again?” Hawke asked.

“No. I mean, yes, it just got a lot stronger, but I haven't really been hearing it for a while.” Bethany grimaced, “I don't know how to explain it so you understand. It never went away, but it's not pulling on me anymore.”

“Good with the release and kill part of the plan now?”

Bethany didn't quite glance at Fenris. “Yes, sister,” she said, the slight emphasis on the second word for once fond instead of biting. “But I don't think the other Wardens will be,” she added.

Larius was across the room, almost out of earshot, but Hawke lowered her voice anyway, “I'm not sure ours will be either. He talks more about destroying the seals than whatever it is they're holding.” She sighed, “Hopefully we'll beat Janeka there and won't have to deal with both of them.”

For a little while, Hawke almost believed they might. The final push had plenty of darkspawn that an advance group of Grey Wardens surely would have dealt with. But when they reached the bridge leading back to the top of the tower, Janeka and her two companions were waiting. The Warden's arguments were no more convincing the second time around. The insinuation that Larius had been responsible for her father's cooperation years ago made her want to push him off the bridge, but was irrelevant to the question of letting a darkspawn live.

Janeka did not take Hawke's refusal well.

It was really almost funny how the woman thought she could catch them off-guard. Fenris's tattoos were glowing by the time Janeka finished giving the order to attack, and he was in the woman's space before she had a chance to retreat behind the blades of her fellow Wardens. Her hasty blast of energy sloughed off him, and she scrambled to get her staff up to block his sword. Hawke intercepted one of the other Wardens as he tried to help his commander, sword cutting easily through the man's leather to cut his arm open from shoulder to elbow. Bethany froze the last Warden and Varric's bolt followed a split second later. Hawke's opponent flinched as frozen bits of flesh showered down around them, and she used his distraction to get under his guard and pierce the artery in his shoulder. He gasped and pressed a hand against the wound in a futile attempt to stop the flow of blood. He'd bleed out in a matter of minutes, but Hawke still pulled her dagger and pushed it through his left eye. Better a quick death, always better a quick death.

Janeka had no chance after that.

Larius barely glanced at the bodies of his fellow Wardens, urging Hawke to complete the unsealing. She didn't need to look at her companions to know she wasn't the only one wary of his motives. They made their way around the circular room, loosing the energy that kept the darkspawn bound. But there was no release.

“It needs your blood,” Larius called from the entrance. “It needs the key and your blood.” He pointed to the center of the room, where there was a slightly raised platform. Hawke approached it, frowning.

“This is blood magic,” Fenris said flatly.

“It's been blood magic the whole way through,” Hawke said. She tried to smile at him. “Does it really count if I'm not a mage?”

“Yes,” Bethany said.

Varric shrugged. “We have to get out of here one way or another.”

“Right. Speak now if you know another way out. Otherwise...” Hawke held the sword out and readied herself.

Varric hefted Bianca in response. Fenris looked at her hand hovering above the blade of the sword for a long moment, face tight and unhappy, before giving her a sharp nod. Bethany gripped her staff. “Ready, sister.”

Afterwards, Hawke could never recall what followed well. She remembered an explosion of energy that sent her sprawling and something that looked more like a horror than a darkspawn rising from the center of the room. The creature tried to talk to them, but she knew nothing good ever came from conversing with things like that. And then her memory got really fuzzy. There were gouts of flame, and rocks dancing with lightning, and huge chunks of ice that hurled toward them with unerring accuracy. And over it all, the darkspawn's voice, full of confusion and rage. Her only clear memory was Bethany turning to respond to a called warning, and stopping, face full of alarm, and then nothing.

 

Hawke's head ached when she woke. Someone was moaning. They sounded familiar.

 _Bethany_ , she thought, and struggled to open her too-heavy eyes. She took a deep breath, and the sound stopped. _Not Bethany_ , she realized. _Me_. Hawke relaxed again.

“Sister? Marian?”

The sheer worry in her sister's voice cut through the returning lethargy. She opened her eyes.

Bethany was leaning over her, eyes red and cheeks wet. “Oh,” she said, when Hawke gingerly raised a hand. “Oh, I—” And then she pressed forward, hands resting on Hawke's shoulders and face turning into her neck. “Don't do that,” Bethany half-sobbed. “I'm not a healer.”

“Sorry,” Hawke said hoarsely. She put her arms around Bethany and held her best she could. “I'm sorry.” Bethany just shook her head, leaving smears of moisture against Hawke's skin. Hawke rubbed small circles on her back. “What happened?” she asked.

Bethany sniffed and sat back up. “You got hit by one of those big pieces of ice. Right in the back of your head. And then you fell on to one of the lightning rocks.” Hawke winced as she continued. “Turns out even ancient darkspawn aren't that good at defending against attacks from three directions at once.” Bethany's gaze fell to Hawke's arms, then back up to her eyes again. Her voice was lower when she spoke again. “Besides your head, there were a lot of burns. I did the best I could, but your heart kept stopping and I– I'm not good enough at healing to—”

“Hey.” Hawke struggled to sit up as Bethany's eyes began to water again. It hurt more than she wanted to admit. She tugged her sister back into her arms. “I'm okay.”

“But your arms!” Bethany managed, before dissolving completely, clinging to Hawke as she cried.

Hawke raised one arm and looked at it. A thick red scar ran jaggedly down the back of her forearm, smaller scars forking away from it at irregular intervals. She flexed her arm and noted that the skin felt tight and sore. She lowered it again again to rest on Bethany's back, “Anders may be able to do something about them.” She pressed a kiss against Bethany's hair. “You're okay?” she asked, as she looked over Bethany's shoulder for Varric and Fenris. Bethany nodded against her shoulder as Hawke spotted them back by the entrance with Larius. It looked like they were preventing him from leaving.

Hawke gritted her teeth. One last problem, and she was not at her best. She ran a hand over Bethany's hair. “Help me up?”

Standing was even harder and actually walking worst of all, her muscles twitching and protesting with each step. She had to lean on Bethany more than she liked. By the time they reached the others, she was breathing heavily and regretted not making Larius come to her.

“Good to see you on your feet, Hawke,” Varric said, and Hawke flashed him a brief smile. She gave Fenris a slightly softer one before turning her attention to Larius.

He met her gaze with none of the shiftiness that had defined their previous interactions. He even stood straighter. Hawke wasn't sure quite what to make of the change. Larius attributed his improvement to the death of the darkspawn and announced his intentions of rejoining the Wardens.

“I didn't think people came back from the Calling,” Bethany said.

“Yes, I will be unexpected,” Larius said. “The prison seals are gone and we are all free. I thank you, children of Malcolm Hawke.”

Hawke watched him go, disquieted at the change in personality. Bethany shifted her grip on her waist and redistributed her weight. “Getting heavy, am I?” Hawke asked her.

“Of course not,” Bethany said, in the exact tone of voice Carver used to use. “I still think he needs a good hit for what he did to Father.”

“Should have said something while he was still in arms reach. I'm not exactly in shape to go run him down.”

“I'll do it for both of us if I see him again,” Bethany said.

Hawke smiled and leaned her head against her sister's. “Let's go home,” she said.

 

A day later, Hawke sat in her library in a chair pulled up by the fire. Bethany sat on the floor in front of her, leaning back against her legs as Hawke braided her hair.

“I missed this,” Bethany said.

“Wait till I'm done before you get nostalgic,” Hawke said. “I still can't keep these damn things straight.”

Bethany elbowed Hawke's shin. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.”

They were quiet for while then. Across the room, Dog snuffled and rolled over, legs twitching as he chased something in his sleep. A log broke in the fireplace and sent sparks dancing in the updraft.

“I wish I could stay longer.”  Bethany's voice was almost too low to catch. Hawke pulled a bit more of her hair into the braid. Despite her best efforts, it was already going crooked.

“I do too,” she said.

“But the Grey Wardens,” Bethany said.

“The Grey Wardens,” Hawke agreed. Then, because she could never leave well enough alone, “Do you still wish I hadn't given you to them?”

Bethany sighed. “I don't know.” She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. “I'm not sorry I'm alive though. I couldn't always say that.”

“I didn't know that.”

“I wasn't talking to you through most of it.”

“Bethany,” Hawke said, and whatever was in her voice made Bethany twist around to look at her. “Grey Warden or not, if you want to stay, you can.”

Bethany blinked up at her, half-braided hair hanging lopsidedly down the back of her head. “I think they'd come looking eventually,” she said. “And even your reputation can't protect me from the Circle like this armor does.”

Hawke sighed, and motioned for Bethany to turn back around so she could finish her hair. “But if you wanted to, you could,” she said. “You know I'd fight the Templars for you.”

“I do.” Bethany reached back and laid a hand over Hawke's. “Thank you.”

They fell into silence again after that. Hawke was almost finished when a thought struck her and she let out a sharp breath of exasperation.

“What?” Bethany asked.

“I just realized that Varric is going to be insufferable. More than usual.” Hawke tied off the end of the braid and tugged it to let Bethany know it was done. She turned and propped a forearm on Hawke's knee.

“Why's that?” she asked.

“Years ago he said the way to make up was to let you rescue me from certain death.”

Bethany fought down a laugh. “I don't know if it was _certain_ death.”

“Close enough.”

“Closer than I ever wanted,” Bethany said. Hawke smiled ruefully.

“So how many days can you spare?” she asked.

“I don't think Alistair would begrudge me a week. He's rather keen on family.”

“I knew I liked him.”

Bethany stood and stretched. She licked her lips then, and looked down at Hawke. “Sister,” she began, uncertain. “I'm sorry, too.”

“Already forgiven,” Hawke said. She leaned her head back against the chair—she'd gone to see Anders as soon as they got back, but she was still sore and tired easily.

“Need help getting up to your room?” Bethany asked.

“I'll manage,” Hawke said. “Get a good night's sleep. Isabela wants to take you shopping tomorrow. I've used less energy going to the Wounded Coast and back than on one of her shopping expeditions.”

Bethany laughed and kissed her goodnight. Hawke stayed in front of the fire a while longer, feeling happy for the first time in ages. She had her sister back, and while the relationship was still somewhat fragile, it was real and it was honest. It was one good thing gone right.

Hawke smiled and followed her sister to bed.


End file.
